Exorcist
by BlueMew
Summary: “I have only been following God’s orders. I am merely a humble servant with a gift, like all of the rest of my comrades in Section Thirteen.” Manga-based, AU, EnricoIscariot-centric.
1. Baptism

Inspired by a previous idea of mine, it seems to flow better this way rather than creating an entire Maxwell family asking for his story, and then having to create chapters to build characters that I don't want to even create. . . .it would all have been a pain.

Manga-based, Enrico-centric, AU. I can't say how the Hellsing manga ends.

To answer a question that I'll probably get in a review: Yes, it does skip forward and backward in time. I have tried to make it as easy to understand as possible.

Standard disclaimer stuff. You know what it says.

ooooooo

"Archbishop Enrico Maxwell, pastor emeritus of the Saint Pierre parish of Corsica, and former leader of Vatican Section Thirteen, the Iscariot Organization, you have been charged with numerous crimes against both God and humanity, including issuing the order for mass murders in London, assassination of a bishop, and the death of numerous high ranking British officials. Before we decide on the most appropriate punishment for your actions and then allow the secular governments to deal with you, would you like to explain why you ordered such activities? You cannot deny your actions, Archbishop, we have videorecordings of your show on the helicopter."

Enrico Maxwell was calm as he sat in the wooden chair, finding himself on the opposite side of the inquisition for the second time in his life. He folded his gloved hands, looked down at the wooden table, and then allowed his eyes to come to rest upon those of the cardinal in the center of the group.

"I have only been following God's orders. I am merely a humble servant with a gift, like all of the rest of my comrades in Section Thirteen."

"Gift?" The cardinal to the far right snorted as he folded his arms. "Archbishop Maxwell, you are the only member of Iscariot WITHOUT a gift from God! I have no idea how some. . . .serpent like YOU ended up leading an entire division!"

The Archbishop only smirked. "Read my file. I'm the best damned exorcist The Church has seen in years. In fact, Cardinal Molan, YOU PERSONALLY suggested that I be brought to the Vatican to be trained by Father Pendrake as his successor."

The cardinal next to the one on the far right stammered incoherently; the Archbishop laughed wholeheartedly, despite his current situation. "Would you like to tell the story Cardinal Molan? Or should I?"

oooooooo

"Hey! Father Ricci!" A twenty-four year old Enrico Maxwell stood from the garden outside his rectory where he was tending the rosebushes, waving to the woman on a bicycle that had called his name. Her hair was dark, and face hidden by a large, floppy hat. She had already started toward him, leading the bike alongside her as she walked. "My sister is still ill, and my mother, she suspects that Christine is being tormented by the devil. Would you humor my parents by coming over for dinner tonight so you can tell them to take her to a hospital?"

"You can tell your mother that I will be there as soon as I change out of my gardening clothes." He smiled, reassuring the girl, and trying his best not to blush. He was still a man, despite his calling. A very repressed man, as his parents instilled the fear of the wrath of the vengeful God if he ever tried anything nearly sexual, but he did his best to keep all urges nothing more than fantasies by throwing himself wholeheartedly in to his hobby.

It was why he had the best rose garden on the entire island.

Once Danielle had disappeared from his sight, Enrico made his way inside the rectory, changing out of the muddy shoes and trousers before grabbing his bicycle and peddling to the house that had requested his services. More likely than not, Christine, whom he had never once seen in Mass, was just depressed or suffering from some mental illness. He would talk to her, tell her parents she needed a doctor, and go back to his roses.

His parish was small enough that he knew everyone that attended mass, along with where they lived, what they did for a living, and about all of the gossip anyone would want to know thanks to the woman that cleaned the rectory.

"Bonjour Father Ricci!" Danielle's mother was standing in the driveway, obviously waiting for him. Her apron was stained with some red sauce, and her face smudged with soot. "I did not have much time to prepare you a proper meal, but I do hope you will be satisfied with what I can give. After all, I will be eternally grateful if you can help my Christine."

Maxwell smiled at the matriarch of the family. "I'll go to Christine now, if you would like. We can all eat after I meet her."

"Of course Father." The middle aged woman led him through the kitchen where Danielle was busy stirring something that smelled of seafood to the back of the house, where Christine sat upon her bed, staring out the window at the nearby beach.

With a nod, Maxwell dismissed her mother, and closed the door gently behind him. "Christine? How are you?"

No reply.

"My name is Enrico Maxwell, but people call me Father Ricci. I'm the new pastor at your family's church."

She turned away from him, still silent.

"Christine, your mother thinks you are possessed and wants me to perform an exorcism."

She snorted.

"Christine, I am going to pray for you." He stated, unsure of what he really should do in an exorcism. That was not considered part of the standard curriculum anymore, as most of the former 'demons' had been diagnosed as mental illnesses. "I would like you to pray too." Gently, he grasped her hand in his own, and looking up to heaven began.

"Our Father, who art in- OW!"

His vision blurred; the girl was apparently left handed, as she had slammed a paperweight against his temple as hard as she could. He was bleeding, his left eye was being clouded because of the injury, and he felt as if he would collapse on the floor at any moment.

Somehow, he could sense that she was going to lunge at him again, and Maxwell jumped to his feat as the paperweight collided with the mattress, leaving the girl prone for capture.

Throwing his body upon hers, Enrico had the advantage of weight, and nothing else, as he pinned her down, yelling prayers and verses as she continued to shriek and try to hit him with the paperweight, every few times hitting him in the head once again. He could feel her growing weaker as the struggle ensued, and he could hear her mother and sister yelling from outside the bedroom door, asking if he needed assistance.

He begged for them not to come in, that it was too dangerous- which it was. Christine was now only shrieking, so he stood, ripping the paperweight from her hand as he moved to the door, invoking the Holy Spirit to come save her soul, then banishing the demon as he opened the door, allowing the family to enter the room.

Both the mother and Danielle crossed themselves as they saw their sister convulsing on the bed, all the while Maxwell still ordering the demon out of her body as he rummaged through his bag, finally finding what he was looking for- a vial of Holy Water.

With one final prayer before his vision clouded completely thanks to his injury, he tossed the contents of the bottle upon the girl, falling to the floor at the foot of her bed; his blood staining his plain white stole.

ooooo

"Father Ricci?"

His head throbbed. His body ached. There was a bandage over his left eye. And he didn't remember what had caused the accident.

"Huh?"

"It's me, Christine. You've been unconscious for twenty-two hours." She grabbed his bare, cold hand, squeezing it tight. "I'm sorry I did this to you. I could see you there, and something just made me start attacking you. I really didn't mean it."

It was all coming back to him. The fourteen year old had actually been possessed. . . .

"I-it's no problem. All part of my duties to my parish, you know."

"Well, if you would like, my mamma has made you a very special dinner. It's all we can afford, since my papa really doesn't make much money growing grapes."

"You don't have to," He barely noticed the sadness creep upon her face through his swelled right eye; he had hit that side of his head against a table as he fell, "but it is very kind. I will be there as soon as I can."


	2. Confession

"Archbishop, I do not see how this relates to your case." The cardinal in the middle stated, not amused with what he decided were stall-tactics.

"Trust me Cardinal, there is a point to my story." Maxwell smiled, leaning back in his chair. "We are all believers, but do not believe; one of my colleagues is constantly saying things like that. I don't really understand his logic, do you?" He paused, looking at Cardinal Molan. "Give me a light."

"But Archbishop," Molan stammered, fumbling in his pocket for his lighter while Maxwell produced a cigarette, "it is not appropriate for you to be making demands right now."

Another cardinal leaned forward offering a match, and the cigarette glowed in the darkened room as Maxwell inhaled deeply. "Cardinal, I believe that I, of all people, know how to conduct a proper Inquisition, would you not agree? That I would know when it is appropriate for the condemned to speak, is that not correct?"

"This is an impeachment trial, Archbishop, NOT an inquisition." The cardinal directly across from Maxwell growled between clenched teeth. "We do not allow for inquisitions anymore."

"Pity." Enrico sighed, resting his chin upon his gloved hand as he looked over the group once again. "Were I running this, it would be an inquisition. I'd have the person in question sobbing on the floor, begging for God to take his life, and praying for mercy from this imperfect, human trial." His eyes settled on Molan once again. "Isn't that what Father Pendrake said to me when I was dragged to Italy to be held accountable for my sins? Sins, which I may add, that were not mine. Once I had the authority to prove myself innocent, I did. I was just too engrossed in my Order by the time my former parish learned the truth that I could not leave my comrades without proper leadership, now could I? Knowing what I know is my sin, my burden, my path to salvation."

"I saw the reports from your former parish, yes. You were completely innocent of the crimes that you had been accused and convicted." The cardinal immediately to the left of center stated, thumbing through Maxwell's case file. He appeared bored with the entire trial.

"So who is to say that God is not working through me once again, testing YOUR faith by placing me in this situation? Did I not target heathens, heretics, blasphemers, pagans, and inhuman monsters? Did any of my men personally kill a single Catholic in London that was still human?"

"YOU ARE GOING TO BE IN CONTEMPT OF THIS COURT, MAXWELL." The middle Cardinal was livid, slamming his palms upon the desk. "Make your point or we will turn you over to the British. They'll kill you."

"Very well." Taking another drag on the cigarette, Maxwell closed his eyes, reminiscing. "Christine Tourvel, that beautiful child, was my first exorcism. . . ."

ooooooooo

The young priest had not realized that Christine had been the pet project of his predecessor. He had been unable to do anything to help the child, or so the letter from the Bishop stated. Enrico had petitioned his superior for help, since so many of the townspeople were now flocking to his home, asking him to lay his hands upon their sick children, or bring God's grace upon the vineyards for an excellent harvest.

The Bishop was so overwhelmed by young Maxwell's command over spirits that he could not ignore the provincial. As he explained in his reply, the young man had not even worn the traditional violet stole or voiced the correct adjurations to truly expel a demon, like the proper exorcists. Surely, God had a plan for Maxwell, and the bishop sought to use the young man's talents to glorify his own position; there were always spaces opening in the College of Cardinals.

Therefore, Maxwell's talent was to be nurtured. The best exorcists from around Europe were sent to Corsica under the guise of guest pastors and visitors to the parish. Each time a new priest or lay member came to instruct the young man, they walked away wondering how God could allow a man with such flare for the dramatic the power to do such good.

Every teacher learned to despise the young man, degrading his every action outside of the church; from wanting to advertise his gifts across Europe in an effort to revitalize the local economy, to his overly feminine hobbies and appearance. He replied to the former that it would increase the town's donations to Rome, and the latter that he could not control his own aging process; if God wanted him to look like a young boy, then who was he to question God?

Months passed; the news spread in to France, Italy, and Spain of the priest that could sense a demonic presence, and for a small token of kindness, either conversion or money, he would free the person from his or her sins. His diocese stopped sending instructors to the parish, since none wanted to remain with Maxwell longer than three weeks. The town celebrated his birthday with a celebration the likes of which was only matched by their Christmas spectacle that year, and at twenty-five, Enrico Maxwell was a bit too ambitious for a parish priest less than a year out of the seminary.

The town loved him; he could not go anywhere without someone offering him dinner, wine, or money for the good he was doing. Tourism was at an all-time high because of the pilgrims that wished to see a miracle. The vineyards could charge more for the grapes and olives now that the area was famous. Simple farmers had created inns from their homes; religious fanatics wanted to be as near St. Pierre's as possible.

The Tourvel family had decided to use their entire house as a hotel for travelers; Father Maxwell had allowed the mother and two daughters sanctuary in the rectory. He enjoyed their company, and since they cooked, cleaned, and performed every other menial task needed by the church and its pastor, Maxwell was left with plenty of time to continue with his hobbies.

His life had been good with the Tourvel family through the cool winter months; he had not expected his comfort to end so abruptly as the days began to grow longer. Christine, the youngest daughter, was obviously pregnant, no matter how she tried to hide her protruding abdomen. Her mother and sister believed the priest when he stated that he had in no way touched the young girl as she claimed- Maxwell was never alone. It was soon decided that Christine live with her paternal relatives on the other side of the island, since the gossip would be too much for such a small parish. Not only would Maxwell lose his credibility, but her mother and sister would be branded as loose, and none could deal with such trauma to their reputations.

Rome was now sending visiting priests to help Enrico develop his talents since the diocese had stopped, but the young man was less than enthusiastic with his studies. Whenever a new priest appeared, he would hide in the rectory, watching the telephone as he waited to hear what the damned girl was going to say once she gave birth to her child. He would be stripped of the only way of life he knew if she were to come public with her accusation. This was not a civilized land; if the girl stated he was the father, obviously Maxwell would be the father. Never mind that a simple paternity test would prove his innocence, she would never agree to one. He had already asked.

But he was not allowed much time to drown himself in his sorrows; the Vatican was sending two visiting clergy- a Cardinal and a priest- to thank his parish for their donations to an orphanage in Rome. Such a visit would be refreshing; neither would try to instruct him or focus his talent, and he would be able to convince these two, with help from Christine's mother and sister, that the girl was insane and obviously possessed once again, but her Protestant father would not allow him to banish the demon once again. It was the truth: her Protestant father would not allow him near the girl.

ooooooooo

"I met Cardinal Molan and Father Anderson on Palm Sunday that year. My parish was thrilled to have Vatican officials presiding over such an important celebration, and when the two announced they would stay for Easter, you can imagine the turnout. My little church had never been so full.

"It was during the Holy Week when Father Anderson pulled my blood-stained stole from a closet, asking why I had not washed the garment. I told him the entire story of the Tourvel family, and that I was being blamed for Christine's current situation.

"Father Anderson was more sympathetic than any of the Vatican members before or after that learned of my sin, and only stated that 'Enrico, there will always be a place for you in the church, even if you are stripped of everything you currently hold dear'. He was correct; the sinners of the Iscariot Organization were more than willing to take me as one of their own."

Enrico sighed, closing his eyes, his hands falling upon his lap. "Pride is my sin. I learned humility under the strict watch of Father Alister Pendrake. He kept in contact with Christine, so that she would write to me of her child, a sandy-blond haired boy she named after me. She would even send Father Pendrake photos of the boy which he would post in my room whenever he felt I was being too extravagant in my work."

The Archbishop stopped, breathing slowly as he allowed himself a moment of silence. Two of the five cardinals looked convinced that Maxwell was a good man, just a victim of circumstance. One more and he would be free to return to Iscariot.

Was he already cleared, Maxwell would have smiled. Instead, he closed his eyes as he bit his lip, bowing his head in sheer humility.

"You have a child! Preposterous! No Archbishop should be a parent!" The cardinal on the far left yelled. "You clearly abused your power!"

Maxwell exhaled a thin line of smoke in the direction of Cardinal Molan. "Actually, as I have been saying this entire time, the boy is not mine. She claimed that the child was brought to her by God, through his divine messenger on the day of her freedom from sin. I lived with the burden for eight years, sending her money each month to keep her quiet, until I finally paid for a paternity test three years ago just to stop the charade, which proved he was not mine. I could take her to court for extortion and defamation of character, but why bother? I do not plan on returning to Corsica.

"Like I said earlier, I am a thirty-six year old virgin. Unlike the rest of you, I won't even allow for self-gratification. I have the discipline to resist any urges."

Maxwell sighed, crushing his cigarette in the ash tray. "You don't believe me. No one ever does believe the damned." He grabbed another cigarette from his pocket, gesturing for the cardinal to light it again. "Molan can testify in my favor. He saw the results of the test."

Cardinal Molan nodded in agreement, whispering the validity of the Archbishop's statement.

"I was young and stupid, and more afraid of scandal than anything else. For two months I cried at night, wondering how God could abandon me in one aspect of my life, and yet give me the power to help people. The hardest thing I ever had to do was baptize the child. I hated him. I hated his mother. And I performed my duty as her parish priest, wondering when Father Anderson would finally return my letters. He said that he would talk to his superior in his Order to see if I could be transferred.

"I was an outcast. Had I remained at St. Pierre's, I would have been discredited and excommunicated when Christine finally admitted her story to the rest of the parish; she was only fifteen. If I left for the Vatican, Christine would be the outcast, making false accusations about a good man; a man that helped revitalize the town and its economy. Her sister Danielle had tried so hard to protect me, but the Protestant father continued to press charges, finally convincing my bishop to have an internal inquiry into my questionable behavior.

"Not once did the bishop ask for a paternity test, thought I begged for one. His proof was that the child had the proper hair and eye color to be mine.

"I remember wanting to die during my trial. I was going to be removed from my parish, never to serve God again. Father Anderson had not written me in weeks. I was being abandoned, I was certain, so I did the only thing I could do. I prayed.

"God answered my prayers. Just as the court had reassembled to banish me from the priesthood, Father Alister Pendrake, escorted by Father Alexander Anderson came, stating that the Order of Iscariot would deal with me properly. The bishop laughed as he slapped my shoulder on the way out, telling me that I was as good as dead.

"I have never been more terrified in my life as I was at that moment.

"They proved to me how good Iscariot was as soon as we were locked together in that room. Together, they proceeded to tear me apart, forcing me to confess all of my sins all the way back to my childhood. Only when I was pleading for forgiveness, Father Pendrake stopped, and just smiled at me. He said I was ready.

"At twenty-five, I joined Special Forces. God had delivered me from my worst fear; I could not allow His kindness to go unanswered."


	3. Induction

"In my early days with Iscariot, we were a secretive group. The regular membership only consisted of Father Pendrake, myself, Father Anderson, Father Renaldo, and an aged sister who finally made her peace with God only a year after my appointment to the headship. Good candidates for our ranks were usually too distraught by their sins to continue service for the Church, or took the coward's path of suicide.

"We could not use such men in our ranks anyway.

"I was forced to stand before the four as they tried me for my crime against God, of which I still pled innocent, but Father Pendrake had broken me to admitting that I cared for the girl. I believe he knew I spoke the truth; he just wanted to wound my pride.

"It was only once I was full of humility that my missions began."

Maxwell sighed, lowering his eyes to his hands, which lay casually upon the table. His cigarette hung loose between his fingers.

"I did not understand, at first, why Iscariot even existed. My first missions were like what I had been doing at my parish, except I was the one traveling to the afflicted. The cases were not even difficult; a common parish priest with wavering faith could have banished the sort of spirits I met during my early travels.

"While not on missions, I trained with the other recruits, brothers and sisters that had found disfavor in the church. Most were blasted pedophiles from America, and most of those could not handle Father Pendrake's teaching methods. Though we had a high turnover rate in the early days, I soon understood my mentor's vision; for a private army, Iscariot was pathetic. We would become the new Knights Templar once proper candidates could be found."

He paused, taking a drag as the cardinals waited.

"Combat training was not my forte. I was not skilled with human weapons so I was not chosen for the special gifts endowed by the Vatican doctors to certain persons in our membership. Yet Father Pendrake insisted that I work with Father Anderson.

"On a warm July evening, we began our search of Amsterdam. It was our first and only real mission as equals."

ooooooooo

"Over there." Anderson whispered, pointing at a group of drugged-up teenagers, each proudly displaying a pentacle on a chain around their necks. "Do you sense anything from them?"

Maxwell squinted, his hair hanging loose down his back. "Besides the fact that they're obviously tourists taking advantage of this district's freedoms, no. Nothing demonic, only illegal in most of the Western world. Their necklaces show what faith they pretend to follow, but they hold nothing sacred."

"What affiliation?"

Maxwell's face strained in concentration, leaning against Anderson for balance, should he lose consciousness while using his newfound talent of reading souls. "Christian-based, but not Catholic. Perhaps American Southern Baptist; all Protestants look alike."

"Come on then. They are not our mission, this time." The pair continued walking through the streets, Maxwell terrified of whatever was lurking in the darkness. Father Pendrake had been less than informative in this mission briefing; there was a demon in Amsterdam's red light district. Anderson and Maxwell were to find it and send it to hell as quickly as possible, returning to Rome upon successful completion. What unnerved him most about this mission was his comrade; Anderson was in a different state of mind than when he had trained with him before.

And then, standing in the middle of a perfectly legal cyber café, sipping on what appeared to be a glass of wine, was a demonic presence the likes of which he had never sensed before. It was too strong, almost as if Satan himself was controlling the man. In fact, he didn't even have to try to read the man's soul. It was like a light in the darkness.

"That one. The pale man with the sunglasses." Maxwell pointed at the man as he took another drink. "I've never seen anything like it. The three women around him have a slightly less intense signature, but they're still afflicted. Should I-"

"No." Anderson pushed the younger man away, putting his hand inside his coat. "Go back to the airport. Call Father Pendrake and get us passage back to Rome. I'll meet you in twenty minutes."

"But Alex,"

"I said GO!" Anderson pushed Maxwell away with his free hand, harder this time so he would understand, and the younger priest ran from his brother in arms, not once looking back. Alexander Anderson was a jovial, kind man. He ran an orphanage, for God's sake. Something was troubling him. . . .perhaps Angel Dust would be allowed to play tonight.

He smiled as he ran. Being the heir to the Order was enough to take him out of the front lines, and in the two months after the announcement that Maxwell would be the next leader of Iscariot, he spent his time receiving special instruction from Father Pendrake. The most important lesson that the elderly priest had taught was that self-preservation would be the key to his success, since he was not in any way as talented as Anderson and the rest.

He had watched in horror the first time Pendrake raised a gun to his subordinate and shot Anderson in the chest, a perfect blow to his heart. Only when he realized that no blood had been spilled did Anderson start to laugh before standing up, using a photograph of the look on Maxwell's face as another source of humiliation.

Still, he would like to do good again, to see the smiling faces of a family that he helped, or to see a person that lived in constant torment finally be free from Satan's grasp. But as Pendrake constantly told him, he was the next chief exorcist of Iscariot. It was his duty to find demons and the duty of the others to eliminate them.

Schipol was relatively empty at two in the morning, allowing Maxwell the freedom to call his superior as he waited for Anderson without fear of being overheard. He might as well follow orders; there was nothing better to do.

Father Pendrake was thrilled that Enrico had been able to see these demons, more than he had ever been before. Together, they had worked on enhancing Maxwell's abilities of being able to detect demonic presences to the point where he could read a person's soul, good or evil. Pendrake said that being able to see this particular type of demon showed great potential for his successor, and as soon as he returned to Rome, Enrico was to begin the second phase of initiation.

oooooooooo

"We have been informed about the training of Iscariot's membership, including your Superior's notes about your own training." The cardinal in the center stated. "You learn of vampires, werewolves, and other non-human creatures that are abominations in the eyes of God, and how to destroy them. You personally performed nearly all of the exorcisms given to Iscariot in your first year of service. God may care what you and your comrades do in his name, but I do not."

"Do you know why we must destroy the demons in God's name?" Maxwell raised an eyebrow at the cardinal that was questioning him.

"Because that is your calling."

"NO!" Maxwell slammed his palm against the table, startling every cardinal in the room. "It is because God wants us to repent for our founder's sins! We purify the world, making it free of all those who oppose the true teachings of His Son! Do you think that Judas, the great betrayer, did not have the same purpose that we do? Had Judas not acted according to God's Will, we would not even have our glorious Church!" Maxwell paused, removing his hand from the desk. "Our sins are absolved by the blood of those that profane the Will of God. It is how such unwholesome people create an order of the Vatican. Each of us has been condemned by YOUR lot once in our lives; and yet it will be because of US, the sinners in your ranks, that YOU, my dear Cardinal, will be saved when The Lord comes again! We purify the world for YOU!"

"Maxwell! You are out of your mind! I'm calling an end to this inquiry! Turn him over to the British authorities and see what becomes of his ideals!"

Enrico only laughed harder as the cardinal spoke, which only infuriated the cardinal even more. The circle continued; the cardinal and Maxwell both grew louder until finally another cardinal screamed over both voices, "WILL YOU JUST GET TO THE POINT?"

With a gloved hand, Enrico wiped his eyes, still chuckling as he leaned back upon the chair. "Remember, if I am destroyed and the Order disbanded, you will have to deal with my three most highly fanatical and loyal underlings. If the Knights ever grew suspicious of what happened to me, I cannot be held responsible for their actions." He smirked once again. "Sister Wolfe could destroy you without even breaking a sweat, and she's my least talented fanatic. I'd hate to see you pitted against Yumie or Alex."

He paused yet again to finish the cigarette, not lighting another one in its wake. "You all know I became the head of Iscariot almost ten years ago. My sin was my alleged child; my sin was my talent for detecting demonic presences; my sins would lead to my redemption. I studied in the Vatican libraries as the rest killed terrorists, infidels, pagans, heathens, heretics, blasphemers, and inhuman creatures. We were efficient. We were good at information suppression without the aid of the other orders, right Cardinal Molan? At least it was that way for my first eight years."


	4. Confirmation

Father Alister Pendrake had been battling a combination of lung cancer and emphysema for many years before he met Enrico. It had been no surprise that he would die because of the condition, and when he finally allowed God to take his soul to Heaven, the now twenty-seven year old Maxwell was formally inducted as leader of Iscariot.

The transition of power was met as expected. Father Anderson said Enrico was a capable exorcist and leader, and no one questioned the man initially considered too young that now led the secret section of the Vatican.

Some of the others in the College of Cardinals had asked why Father Anderson had not been appointed as the leader. He had the most service to the Order. Anderson only declined, stating that he wished to remain on active duty, not be cramped away in some office. He insisted that Father Maxwell would be better suited for the position anyway; a younger man would live longer.

Before Father Pendrake passed away, he had requested that Enrico meet with the leaders of all the European agencies with similar callings to those of Section XIII. While these supposed sister organizations were made up of fools that would not be able to defend themselves in the face of a real threat of a vampire or any other supernatural creature, the most competent had been the British Organization. Sir Arthur Hellsing had seemed agreeable during their meeting. The two created treaties concerning Ireland and who would police the different regions, and with a handshake at a café just outside the National Gallery, Enrico had parted company with Sir Hellsing, wishing him good heath and prosperity.

What he did not realize was that Sir Arthur Hellsing would be dead within the month.

When he received the formal announcement of Sir Hellsing's death and the appointment of his thirteen year old daughter Integral as head of the Hellsing Organization, he only hoped that the daughter would be as enlightened as her father. The Christian religions did not need to quarrel, no matter how often the Irish Catholic leaders petitioned the Vatican to send troops in the name of their cause.

He sent lilies to Integral Hellsing for the wake and went on with his life. There were new recruits to be trained, terrorists and insurgencies to fight, and the possibility of moving part of his headquarters to Jerusalem.

There was no time to consider full-scale inquisitions as Father Pendrake had wished, nor was there reason. The western world was seemingly harmonious in its religious tolerance, and the east would soon follow suit because of the new Jerusalem office.

Father Anderson, along with the elder information specialist Father Renaldo, were finding more suitable candidates to join Iscariot's ranks than those in Enrico's class. There would always be those that could not handle the pressure and secrets of Iscariot, but with a more stringent selection process before training began, there were less drop outs that knew of Iscariot's existence.

Three years in to Maxwell's tenure as leader, he found two perfect candidates for his Order while traveling to parishes to thank them for their generosity to the orphanage that his Order kept. Both girls were orphans raised in Catholic orphanages, and neither had any ambition outside of their homes, though they were nearly eighteen.

Quick return trips to Austria and Japan brought the girls to seminary in Rome, and within a year he had helped create two perfect assassins from Sister Wolfe and Sister Takagi.

Through the entire time, he had not once thought of Hellsing or its child leader. He was preoccupied learning that Yumiko was in fact a berserker, and that Anderson had served in World War Two. Each day brought about a new surprise.

Iscariot had never been more successful in their missions. With three highly trained assassins and scores more of exorcists and knights, it seemed as if nothing could go wrong. Other continental organizations soon handed over their territory to the Vatican; they could not compete.

That was, until the end of 1997.

Maxwell had ten years in the service of the Roman Catholic Church, nearly eight in Iscariot. He had been allowed to return to Naples to give a sermon during the Midnight Mass at his home parish, much to his mother's delight. Heinkel and Yumiko had recently been a little too flashy with their mission in the Middle East, but their obvious success reminded him of his predecessor's wish; that Iscariot be an official army, not just a few brothers and sisters in Christ that eliminated one or two major threats per year.

The holiday was definitely what he needed to lift his spirit. Being free of the complaints of information suppression from the bishop leading Section III only added to the joys of seeing his nieces and nephews for the first time.

His father still complained of Enrico's long hair; his mother doted upon the fact that her son, none of her neighbors' sons, was still working in Vatican City as one of the higher officials of the Church. She had no idea of what he really did. Enrico had convinced her that he was working in the order that trained exorcists. It was mostly true, and it played well with his earlier fame.

December 28, 1997, his mobile rang with the worst news his Iscariot had ever received. He nearly dropped his youngest nephew as Father Renaldo read the report.

Fathers Catussi and Ketrinkov, along with Sister Esteban had been found dead, murdered inside the rectory where they lived. While these were lower level agents, they had been stationed in Northern Ireland at a school for information retrieval in to the terrorist activities in the area. Near their corpses lay a note from the murderer stating "Thank you Section XIII, we now know all".

Renaldo apologized numerous times, requesting that Enrico return to Rome as soon as possible. Hellsing needed to be questioned, and no one was better at questioning than Maxwell himself.

He could not say no. Iscariot was his calling.

His family protested, but he promised that he would return each Christmas, if not more. The Vatican needed him now; demons were running rampant, making a mockery of the Lord's birth.

ooooooooooo

"Father Maxwell," Cardinal Molan whispered as he thumbed through the file once again, "The names and dates you mentioned are not recorded as members of Iscariot."

Maxwell only shrugged. "It became policy of my Iscariot to erase the association of those on active duty in order to protect their families from the truth. Father Catussi and Sister Esteban were assigned to the parish school as instructors and Father Ketrinkov was visiting from the African missions. That is what their official records state. In no way are any of my agents, less myself, solely associated with Iscariot. Alex runs the orphanage, and Heinkel is one of the sisters that teach there. Yumiko is a missionary that goes where she is needed. Even Father Renaldo, one of the longest serving members of the Order, was reassigned to be a delegate to the Anglican church in London."

The five cardinals were silent, all eyes were upon Maxwell. This sort of admission had to constitute something illegal.

"You are probably wondering why I hate protestants so passionately, correct?"

The cardinal in the center nodded, though he was not even thinking of such. The rest all chimed in with their support, and Maxwell smiled.

He would be cleared if he continued.

oooooooooo

The very next day, Father Enrico Maxwell stepped in to the terminal at London Heathrow, looking for the Hellsing butler. He personally arranged with Mr. Dornez that he should be met at the gate and taken to speak with Miss Hellsing.

The butler was nowhere to be seen.

He called Hellsing. A secretary answered the phone, stating that she saw no record that Walter was meeting anyone that day, and that Director Hellsing was on Holiday in France.

Nearly five hours passed before Maxwell gave up his wait, deciding to take the next available flight to Dublin to survey the scene and speak with the local authorities.

The trip to Ireland was short, but his anger with the obviously fickle Miss Hellsing had grown substantially while he sat wedged between an obnoxious rugby fan and woman holding a crying child. This was the reason his church never allowed women to have much power; they could not mentally handle the task.

Renting a car, he drove to the church and gave the local police his credentials, easily gaining access to the scene. The police captain was obviously Catholic; he pleaded that Father Maxwell give the bastards that did this hell.

Enrico had told the man that Jesus preached of loving thy neighbor and turning the other cheek.

When he saw the scene of the massacre and the photos of the mutilated bodies, Maxwell was certain that not even Jesus could forgive such a crime. The bedroom was coated with blood. A pair of women's panties lay askew near the closet; probably those of Sister Esteban. Quickly, he hid them inside his coat pocket so the labs at the Vatican could determine who the garment actually belonged to.

He ran a gloved hand upon the bullet holes that littered the wall, suddenly feeling cold as he turned to leave the scene. He wanted autopsies done by Vatican officials. Was the sister raped, he would personally kill her attacker.

"Father Maxwell," Walter Dornez smiled politely as he stood in the doorway of the room. "I was not expecting to see you here."

Enrico turned to face the Hellsing butler, folding his arms across his chest. "That much is obvious. You were supposed to escort me here from London."

"Yes, I do apologize for the inconvenience." Walter smiled slightly. "I also apologize that Sir Integra will not be able to meet with you. She is on holiday in France. I had not remembered that you were coming today."

Maxwell's lip curled in disgust. "Three of the clergy dead in a massacre on MY side of the Irish border with a note stating that whoever did this knows Iscariot's secrets, and you do not expect me to come immediately." His eyes narrowed as his features hardened. "I can only expect YOUR lot did this."

"I assure you, Hellsing would not kill your people."

Shaking his head, Enrico walked past Walter. "I do not have time to waste with commoners. I expect full cooperation from your director, and she will not argue with a heightened Iscariot presence in Ireland because of this terrorist act."

"Hellsing will do what it can to help in this investigation."

oooooooooooo

"I remember that incident. The group turned out to be a bunch of Pagans that bombed the Vatican not long after the incident in Ireland." The cardinal to the left of center sighed. "I lost one of my best friends that day."

"Sisters Wolfe and Takagi eliminated Abraham van Rogh and his followers. I was incapacitated in the hospital at the time; I was injured in that attack upon the Vatican as well."

"I don't see how that one incident with a handful of people could make you hate all Protestants so passionately. It's quite un-Christian." The cardinal on the far right stated. "I may not have been at the Vatican at the time of that attack, but we are all Christians. God loves us all, even if they do not have the same hierarchy structure as we do."

"You did not look a child in the eyes before he tossed a grenade in your direction." Enrico smirked, looking up at the cardinal. "Sir, may I have your name?"

"David Green."

"Thank you Cardinal." Maxwell continued to smirk, but stared at Molan. "If not for Iscariot, London would be a city of the Midian. If not for Iscariot, the rest of the world would see the realization of Hitler's dream. If you do not allow me to continue leading Iscariot, the world will return to the Dark Ages thanks to the grave mistake of the Hellsing Organization."

"That does not explain your previous hatred of Protestants."

Enrico scanned the group. Even the center cardinal appeared as if he would dismiss the charges. "Does my life story not give a satisfactory explanation?" His features softened as his eyebrows rose in feigned surprise. "I would still be a regular parish priest if not for that damned girl's Protestant relatives. Had Hellsing, the Protestant group, given us any help during the investigation of the 1997 Christmas massacre we would have not even seen the 1998 attack upon the Vatican which killed quite a number of the college of cardinals."

He had not tried to use his God-given abilities in years; Enrico only hoped as he stared glassy-eyed at each of the cardinals they would think he was only pleading for forgiveness.

Green's soul told of resentment and dislike. Molan was terrified of Iscariot and would most likely not vote against him. The leader wanted vengeance. The one on the far left was convinced of the need for Iscariot.

"Cardinal Roberto Verani," The man to the left of center jumped slightly as Maxwell spoke his name. He had never seen the leader of Iscariot before, nor had he spoken his name once in the council meeting. "You are confused about what my fate should be. May I ask what information it is you seek to either prove my innocence or condemn myself?"

Cardinal Verani exhaled, thumbing through the files in his hands. "I have read all of the information supplied to my Order, Archbishop, and I have in my possession documents that you signed condemning Sisters Wolfe and Takagi for their actions at Beka'a, and orders for a massacre of a communist terror cell. It almost seems as if you had some sort of revelation in the time between those orders. Can you explain yourself?"

"I have, Cardinal." Enrico smiled, lighting another cigarette. "I was in Naples, holding my nephew, when I learned of the massacre of three of my agents. Sister Esteban was raped by no less than four men, I found out one week later after I called for an official autopsy by an independent agency."

Verani scratched his temple, an eyebrow arched in confusion as he reread the reports in his file. "You took a personal vendetta against all non-Catholics because of the death of three clergy?"

"I have my reasons for my intolerance." Enrico shrugged, locking his gaze upon Cardinal Verani. "Was it wrong for me to follow Papal orders? Do go find those records. I believe that Father Renaldo has an official copy saved in our files, but I am certain you would rather go through the appropriate channels to find the original in His Holiness' files, or in the Vatican library, if your Order has already filed documents issued in the past month."

Verani slowly flipped the pages in the file, producing the document in question. "I have read His Holiness' order. In the Battle of London, you were to use Iscariot to the point of destruction, if necessary, to stop the invading Nazi army. He also apologized for you having to shoulder the burden of these events, and those that occurred fifty years prior."

He loved seeing Cardinal Green and the leader of the trial grab for the form, muttering about its authenticity and that it would mean that Iscariot and its membership had done nothing wrong in the eyes of the Pope.

Enrico only smiled.

"I, like my subordinates, was only following orders."


End file.
